


In the Company of Jeff Winger

by zaynlannister (orphan_account)



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Sexual Abuse, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:10:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/zaynlannister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened on Thanksgiving. Jeff spills his guts and so does Britta. Hints at J/B, eventual physical contact. Mentions of abuse, trauma, drinking, etc. Rating for topics discussed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dinner Time.

**Author's Note:**

> So--I'm very mad at Community for not focusing on Britta's story. I guess I'll just do it myself.

Britta’s not entirely sure how this happened. She never expected to be sitting up in her living room at 4 am, drunk off her ass, being consoled by Jeff Winger. She can’t remember what choices she made that led her up to this point.  
 _It’s good you’re talking about this_ , she began to tell herself before chocking back a scoff; she never was one to enjoy self pity. 

But right now, she doesn’t need to remember to know this is what she needs. 

She remembers Halloween, how Jeff had tried to act like nothing was bothering him—like that was something new. She remembered telling him all those times that he should find his father, and that she should help. She remembered how the Dean spilled the secret of Jeff and his dad’s secret holiday reunion. She remembered the initial feeling in her gut; that way she couldn’t help but look at Jeff differently.  
It’s almost as if just the decision to see his dad changed him. As she made a big show of telling him that he’s going to need her help (which of course he will, it’s not like Winger ever knows how to deal with his emotions correctly), she can’t help but feel a twinge of something stirring inside her.

 _Stop it_ , she tells herself, _we don’t need this right now_. 

The study group parts ways for Thanksgiving break, but she’s already made plans to help Jeff reunite with his dad—whether he wants to or not! Winger’s about to get therapized by Britta Perry, future therapist. And maybe, just maybe, him dealing with his daddy issues will rid her of her own. 

_That’s a stupid thought I don’t need to have_.

She decides to get in bed early, texting Troy good night and good luck at Shirley’s house. Her mind is wandering to places she doesn’t want to it travel to. 

The day before Thanksgiving passes by in a blur of emails to her mother and sister, whom she only talks to as a formality—and there is no way in hell she’s ever sending one to _him_ —as well as a phone call or two to Jeff’s dad. She was pretty sure Jeff wouldn’t be mad at her. How could he be—she was trying to help! If he wasn’t so difficult to work with, she wouldn’t have to take these back up precautions. 

It was a good thing she was at William Winger’s house by the time Jeff called her saying he was backing out of meeting his dad. You’d think it would be awkward, sitting in a room with the man who abandoned Jeff, the guy she once professed love for (boy, was that ever a mistake.) She sat calmly on Will’s couch, breathing in deeply, listening to Jeff blame her for meeting his dad until the secret of her location came out. She could hear Jeff’s irritation, but he would have to deal with it. This was for his own good. 

She told herself this was for him, not her. This was for Jeff’s sake—he needed to address these issues towards his father. Not her. Nope. This Thanksgiving was all about helping Jeff Winger heal his heart hole. 

As his car pulled up, she caught a glimpse of the phone number that had been calling her all day. 

Dad, the screen flashed. And like every other time the number called, she ignored it.

So maybe it wasn’t the best thing for her to be there, she was still helping. She may not have been helping Jeff but beggars can’t be choosers. Boy, his dad sure had done some work on his half brother, too. 

_I guess you’re not the only one with a shit dad_ , she finds herself thinking, much to her dismay. _Stop it_ , she warns herself. This was about Jeff—not her. This wasn’t the same. 

_Jeff’s dad at least had the courtesy to leave_ , she began before screaming _“no”_ at herself. She wasn’t going to do this. Not here, not now. Not ever.

She hears the two talking about being independent, the things they have in common, and she hears his dad talking badly about his brother. She frowns. How could Jeff handle this; it was too much for her (but it wasn’t about her. Duh doy.)

In the middle of handing Willie Jr. another dinner roll for their role play (she still chortled at saying that) she hears Jeff say “Go to hell” and leave. Confused and a little scared at being in a house with people she doesn’t know, she plays it off. 

Don’t make sudden movements and keep trying to help this boy out, she whispers to herself, suddenly wondering when talking to herself became a thing. She shrugs it off as a typical Winger tantrum; she’d seen enough of them at her house during their “date nights” to know one. She looked to see if William had reacted, shown any of the typical signs of distress. She saw none. Either he was a pro at hiding feelings from a licensed psychology major or he genuinely didn’t care. 

She hoped a little too quickly it was the first one. 

She turned back to Willie Jr. and saw he was gone too.

She sighed.

What was up with the Winger family and running away?

Eventually Jeff came back. She expected another showcase of _”yeah, you left me but I’m too cool to care and wah wah wah feelings"_ (or whatever excuses Jeff usually made) and was shocked to see something else. Jeff was real. Vulnerable. As he talked and let out all the things he should never have had to deal with, Britta couldn’t help but smile. She wasn’t smiling because she was happy, not at all; she was smiling because for the first time in the four years she’s known him, he’s being honest with someone. 

And she helped it happen.

 _Alright don’t get cocky there Britta_ , she mocked herself, _he still thinks you’re the worst_.

 

If Jeff still had any resentment towards Britta after confronting his father, he didn’t make it known. After the initial tension (I mean, Winger did just essentially name every single thing his dad did wrong) they group got along pretty well. A desert and a few drinks, Britta started to feel a little sad. It was great to see Jeff getting along so well with this unfamiliar side of his family. The way he flowed into conversation with ease, even offering his brother some advice. 

Typical Winger charm, she deduced. They’re all the same. As Britta was about to quote Freud (the Wingers were all talking about their dreams and she had some things to say, as a psych major) she felt her phone vibrate. She thought maybe it was Troy again—he wasn’t having the best time at Shirley’s. Something about Pierce and blackface being meta. It sounded like something she was glad to be missing. 

But it wasn’t Troy. It wasn’t Annie begging for help either. It was her mother.

Bree, don’t be tough on the old man. Forgive and forget. Love heals all wounds. 

 

Nausea, anger, and racing thoughts filled Britta’s mind. She thought about replying, but she knew better. She hadn’t spoken to her mother in years, even longer about this topic, and she would be damned if she started now. 

She must have given something away because by the time she looks up, Jeff is giving her one of his douchey “what are you hiding” looks he likes to give her. She tries to give him her judgey face but it turns out to be a sadder look than she imagined.

_We’ll just say we’re tired won’t we? He’s bound to believe that._

 

Britta’s relieved when the dinner is over. 


	2. I'm falling to pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets real when Britta gets drunk. Trigger warning, sexual abuse. Let me know what you think?

She was supposed to go home after that dinner. The text from her mother had left Britta feeling exhausted. She hadn’t even replied—why was she getting all worked up? She said her goodbyes, giving Willie Jr. her phone number in case he needed some private therapizing. She felt herself slipping out of her calm mood the more she thought about her mother's message. She said she'd expect to hear from Willie Jr. at some point and as she was spouting off some controversial psychology theories, she found herself being led out the door by Jeff.

He was smiling at her, clearly not listening, and he let her go as soon as they were far enough from the door.

They got into the car.

She was nervous, unsure as to what Jeff would say. _Maybe he'll scream at you and know the real reason you did this._

As they adjusted themselves into the car, she turned to face him. She couldn't help but feel a shiver go down her spine; the anticipation was killing her.

 _"Look, you're probably feeling a very strong urge to sleep with me right now and that's normal."_ She heard Jeff say.

She couldn't help but scoff. She had missed this, their banter. Hearing Jeff thank her for helping gave her a sort of satisfaction she hadn't expected. It opened up a whole new side to their friendship she didn't know she was missing.

After a few minute of chatting, as well as being interrupted by Willie Jr. and mentally noting Jeff's mention of seeing him at Christmas (she knew he couldn't leave his brother alone), she realized something.

 _"Why am I in your car?"_ She wondered out loud. They hadn't come to William's house together, she had her own car--yet she had been led so easily by Jeff.

He didn't really have an answer.

_"Want to go for a drink?"_

And yes. Yes she did.

 

 

 

She hadn't meant to get so drunk. She had ordered one vodka tonic with four olives, then another, and before she knew it, she was drinking scotch along with Jeff and talking way too much.

She was telling him how proud she was, that despite all his walls he allowed himself to try and reconcile with the man who abandoned him. Jeff didn’t say much, which Britta thought was weird but whatever—he probably had more emotional growth in that hour than the past 20 years.

So Britta drank and talked and then she wasn’t caring anymore.

“So get this right—my dad” she hiccupped, “is way more toxic than your dad is, Winger.” She knew what she opening up but she couldn’t stop.

 _Just keep talking. He’ll forget it in the morning._ But Jeff wasn’t half as drunk as Britta wanted him to be. He just looked at her, smirk ever present on his face.

“Yeah, right. He was around wasn’t he? Although he sure didn’t do a good job of keeping you in school.” Jeff joked. She punched him in the arm and rolled her eyes at him.

“I wish he had left—does that sound bad? I think that sounds bad.” More hiccups. “But I do. I couldn’t face him after the restaurant, y’know? It’s like how can you look at him as someone who has to take care of you after that?” Britta mused. She knew Jeff had no idea what she was talking about. She wasn’t sure she wanted to explain any more.

It was too much, too fast. _You’re almost there, just get it out._

Jeff was somehow closer to her. They had been sitting at the bar, on stools, near each other already. The crowd occasionally pushing them closer together as people scrambled to get their drinks or the noise got too loud. But this was different. Britta figured Jeff could tell something big was coming, and that made her tense up even more.

_C’mon, he just shared a story about slicing his stomach open for some greeting cards—you can get this out._

She just kind of looked at Jeff and found herself moving closer to him, attempting to rest her head on his shoulder. Unfortunately, this isn’t a movie, and she was too drunk to really have any clue how close Jeff was; Britta ended up nearly falling over and spilling her drink on him.

She laughed way too hard at that.

Jeff took a deep breath. “Look, I’m about to sound extremely weird and I’ll deny ever saying this but.. Britta, if you need to talk. I’m here.” His eyes gave her that look, the one he gave to her when no one else was looking, the one that meant he was listening.

Britta ordered another drink before finishing the one she had in her hands. She couldn’t look at Jeff anymore. Maybe it was the alcohol or the emotional wound she was about to open up, but she felt sick.

_You need to do this._

“It was nothing at first. I.. didn’t really know what was going on.” Britta hesitated. She turned to face Jeff, careful to leave her drink on the bar but still unable to meet his worried glance. Jeff sat there, still and silent, yet still supportive. She almost laughed at how ridiculous this whole situation was; she was truly selfish for ruining such a huge moment for Jeff with her crap.

She fiddled with her napkin, wondering if she should just chug her drink right there. Seeing as how coordinating isn’t her best right now, she decided against it.

“I went to the bathroom at a restaurant. We were having some party there for my dad’s job—he got a promotion or whatever. It was my birthday.” She laughed nervously, remembering how excited her family had been. “This guy followed me in there. I think he was an executive for the company? Whatever. He uh. He.  Shit happened.” She realized she can’t go into detail, not in a bar where she’s drunk off her ass on Thanksgiving.

She doesn’t know she’s crying until Jeff takes her hand and leads her out of the bar. She’s crying and it’s getting worse, and Jeff isn’t saying anything.

_Britta, spit it out._

Maybe it’s the cold wind hitting her face and the reality of what she just said, but she stops. She turns to look at Jeff for the first time since she started talking. She smiles.

“What you’re thinking, it’s probably true. The guy, my dad’s kind of boss, he.. touched me when I didn’t want to. I was too young to know what happened but it made me feel bad so I told my parents.” She started crying harder and she finds herself leaning into Jeff, needing the support because it was too much to talk and stand at the same time.

“But that.. that I could heal. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t just that. I told my dad. I told my mom. But he didn’t believe me and he sided with his boss. I don’t know what kind of person would do that, why he would say I was lying. I don’t know what kind of person doesn’t bother to make sure their little girl wasn’t psychologically traumatized and abused by their fucking boss on the day of my fucking birthday—“ and then she can’t talk. All she can do is cry and scream and she knows they’re in a parking lot but it doesn’t really matter anymore.

Jeff holds her, not speaking as always. He tried to hide his look of concern but he couldn’t and Britta feels even worse for putting this burden on him. He holds her, as her screaming turns into whimpers inside the car they somehow managed to get to, he doesn’t let go even when she whispers _I shouldn’t have told you._

Jeff takes Britta back to his apartment. 


End file.
